


And The Winner Is...

by NotAHero



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Academy Awards, Age Difference, Award Nominees, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Underage, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29022462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAHero/pseuds/NotAHero
Summary: Being nominated for an Oscar is one thing. Actually winning it?  Like a dream come true!But then he gets something that even puts winning an Oscar to shame.And he realizes sometimes dreams do come true.
Relationships: Robert Downey Jr./Tom Holland
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	And The Winner Is...

**Author's Note:**

> This is for B - she threw this prompt at me and I couldn't resist! 
> 
> Beta by the lovely [NoMoreSadSongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMoreSadSongs/pseuds/NoMoreSadSongs)
> 
> All remaining mistakes are mine.

He can’t get enough of it. He’s drinking it all in as if it’s the first time. Which it is in a way. He’s been to award ceremonies -and to the Oscars- he’s been nominated once or twice -mostly in the UK- but he never really thought he’d have a chance though. 

And now he’s an Oscar nominee for Best Actor. He still can’t believe it. 

Haz kept harassing him to take him. Harry, Sam and Paddy teased him endlessly, and his mum kept looking at him with such pride in her eyes that every video chat became almost unbearable. His dad only smiled and patted his back whenever they saw each other. 

Thankfully he didn’t have to choose who to take, the invitation was for as many people as he wanted to have there with him, so naturally the whole family had been flown in. 

His mum is beaming at everyone, even though the utter insanity of the Red Carpet is too much for her. She’s holding rather tightly to his arm and he has to remind her to take it easy every now and then. He doesn’t need to worry about the rest of them, trailing after him along the carpet, waiting patiently as he stops at every single microphone. He loves this, loves the questions, loves the attention, but even he’s getting tired after the tenth time being asked how it feels to be one of the youngest Oscar nominees. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when they finally make it inside the Dolby Theatre. There will be more interviews after, but for now he can relax a little. He’s not really thinking he’ll win; the nomination is already so much more than he’d expected. His plan is to just enjoy the night, drink a bit too much and enjoy the legendary Vanity Fair party he’s heard so much about. 

As they wander around the wide halls, slightly overwhelmed by all the glamour, there’s only one thing he misses. As much as he loves his family and having his mum by his side, a partner would’ve been so much nicer. Somebody whose hand he could hold, wrap his arms around, or have their arms wrapped around him. Someone he could enjoy all this with. 

But he’s still single - he’s been super busy the past year, has barely had a week off. Yet there had been a few opportunities, when he was back home. A party here, a get-together there, enough people to meet. And with his status now being semi-famous, enough people wanted to get to know him better. 

He’d always shut their advances down instantly. As much as he would’ve loved to just lose himself in something new, something fleeting, his heart wouldn't be in it, and he wasn’t an asshole. His heart was set on someone else. Someone he couldn’t have. 

He hadn’t seen Robert in person in a while, not since that epic wrap party for Endgame. He still blushes when he thinks about how embarrassing that had been. And how amazing. He’d spent most of the evening by Robert’s side, laughing and drinking. He can still feel the not so casual touches - they’re etched into his skin like burn marks. 

There had been one moment especially that had haunted his dreams for a while. 

*

_“Mr. Holland.”_

_Tom grinned as he turned around, swaying a little._

_“Mr. Downey jr.” He made a face. “Nah, that don’t sound right. Mr Downey? No, that’s your father. Oh shit, sorry. Mr Robert? Nope, still wrong. Just Robert? Can I call you Robert?” He was a bit drunk and he was babbling, but it didn’t seem to bother Robert who was smirking at him, raising his own glass at him._

_“Might have had a little too much there, young Spiderling?”_

_“Mayyybeee,” Tom drawled, emptying his glass._

_“I think you should slow down a bit, you wanna remember the night, don’t you?” Robert asked, amusement clearly visible on his face._

_Tom nodded wildly. “Yeah-” The rest of the sentence trailed off as Robert took the empty glass from his hand, his fingers brushing over Tom’s. Warmth spread through Tom’s hand and arm, making him sigh happily._

_Robert chuckled lowly which made Tom sway closer to him._

_“Woah, careful, Tom,” Robert said, steadying him with strong hands around Tom’s shoulders._

_“You smell good,” Tom muttered, suddenly wanting nothing more than to press his nose into the crook of Robert’s neck._

_“And you are drunk,” Robert said, but there was a slow smile in his tone._

_“Only a little.”_

_“I beg to differ.”_

_Silence fell between them; the noise from the party faded away as Tom looked up and into the warm brown eyes that were watching him fondly._

_“I’ll miss you,” Tom blurted out. “A lot.” His fingers twitched, and with the braveness of the drunk he rested them on Robert’s waist. He flinched, but didn’t move away._

_“I’ll miss you too, you did really good out there,” Robert said, gesturing toward the party._

_“Partying?” Tom asked, distracted by the feeling of Robert's suit beneath his fingertips._

_Robert huffed a laugh, returning his hand to Tom’s shoulder. “Acting,” he said gently, the smile morphing into something softer, more intimate._

_“You’ve got a great future ahead of you, Tom,” he added, his hands sliding over Tom’s shoulders. His thumb brushed over the skin of Tom’s neck, and he shuddered at the touch. Robert noticed. His eyes narrowed and he did it again before he slowly, deliberately moved his hand up. He curled his fingers around the back of Tom’s neck, dark eyes on Tom’s face._

_Tom was frozen in place, everything narrowed down to the warm touch against his skin and the scent of Robert’s expensive cologne._

_The air between them felt too thick to breathe; Tom’s breathing had become erratic; heat pooled in his stomach and his gaze flickered between Robert’s eyes and his lips, back and forth. The crush he had had on him ever since they first met had grown over the years working with him, and sometimes he had the feeling that Robert was drawn to him as well. Some days he chastised himself, tried to tell himself that he was imagining things, wishful thinking. But then there were days when Robert stayed around on set even though he wasn’t working, gave advice and gentle suggestions to improve Tom’s work._

_But never anything else, anything **more**. Until now. _

_There was something in Robert’s eyes, something burning and hungry, something-_

_“There are my favorite men,” a voice called out and the moment was over. Robert dropped his hand, Tom swayed at the loss of his touch. He concentrated hard on not falling over as he glared around._

_After that he couldn’t remember very much, everything was a bit blurry, all that was left was the tingling at the back of his neck where Robert’s hand had been._

*

“Tom, it’s starting,” his mum exclaims excitedly, pulling him out of his memories and back into the here and now. 

“Well, let’s get to our seats then,” he says, smiling too widely at her. Shaking his head to clear it, he wraps his arm around his mum’s shoulders, motioning the rest of his family inside the opulent auditorium. 

###

He’s still staring. He’s still in shock. Somebody leads him away, the small statue in his hand heavier than expected. Off stage it’s a bit cooler, darker and his eyes have a hard time adjusting. 

“Mr. Holland?” a soft voice asks and he looks up. One of the hostesses looks at him with a gentle expression on her face. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you wanna wait in the Green Room? There’s no time to get you back to your seat before the end of the show. You can watch the rest from there if you like.” She waits patiently for his scrambled brain to catch up. She’s probably used to people freaking out after they won a freaking _Oscar_. 

He nods and shrugs at the same time. “Yeah, sure,” he stammers, following her pink dress past the chaos backstage, down a hall and into a blessedly quiet room. It’s empty, the huge television is tuned into the show but on mute. 

“There’s drinks and snacks,” she says softly, gesturing towards a large table, laden with champagne and finger food. 

“Thank you,” he says, still too overwhelmed for more than two syllable answers. 

“I’ll get your party to you as soon as the show’s wrapped up, okay? Shouldn’t take too long,” she says softly, not waiting for him to answer. Pulling the door closed behind her, the room falls instantly silent. 

He stares at the screen and back at the statue in his hands. His shaking hands. He’s trembling all over and he stumbles to the nearest chair, collapsing into it. Carefully he sets the Oscar on a table nearby, trying to control his breathing. 

His pocket starts vibrating and for a second he thinks he’s lost it. Then he remembers that he’s put his phone on silent and pulls it out. 

He didn’t think he could be more shocked than he already is as he reads the name on the small screen. With trembling fingers he accepts the call, putting it on speakerphone because he’s not sure he can lift his hands right now. 

“Congratulations, champ, you did it!” Robert’s voice is tinny but the sound of it makes Tom groan quietly. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” Robert continues, and Tom can hear the grin on his words. 

“Tha-, thank you,” he finally manages to say, surprised to sound relatively normal. Finally his brain kicks back in. “Thank you so much. Wait, did you watch?” 

“Of course, can’t not watch my favorite actor win big at the Oscars,” Robert laughs, and it chases a shiver down Tom’s spine. Robert hates award shows, and unless he’s invited or nominated, he doesn’t bother watching them. He rarely attends them even if he is nominated. 

“You watched,” Tom mutters more to himself, his heart beating even harder at the thought of Robert sitting down to watch him. 

“Oh god, I made a total idiot out of myself,” Tom groans, snippets of the stuttering thank you speech rushing back into his overheated brain. 

“You did not.” Robert says softly. “You weren’t very eloquent, granted, but you thanked all the right people so you’re golden.” 

Tom rakes a hand through his hair, too late remembering that he’s got lots of product in it. Cursing softly under his breath, he flops back into the chair. 

“I’m a fucking mess,” he murmurs, too overwhelmed to keep the thought inside his head. 

Robert laughs lowly, a rough sound that has Tom bite his lip. “An Oscar-winning mess,” he quips. He falls silent. “I’m so very proud of you,” he says after a long pause. His tone is gentle and there’s something in it that makes Tom pull the phone closer. “You deserve this so much.” His words are soft and Tom feels tears gather in his eyes. 

“I wish you were here,” he whispers, wanting nothing more than to see Robert right now. All he can do is imagine the softness in his face, the deep crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, the warmth in his beautiful eyes. “I miss you,” he adds even quieter. 

The line is quiet for a moment before Robert huffs what could be a laugh. 

“Nah, you don’t want my cranky old ass there,” he says, his dry sarcasm dripping through the phone like honey, “I’d only ruin your night.” There’s a strain in his tone that makes Tom wince, but Robert clears his throat. “Go and party hard, you deserve it all tonight. Drink, dance, show off that little golden man. People will court you today, enjoy the hell outta that. Maybe you will find someone to party some more later in private” He falls silent again, his breathing suddenly overly loud through the speakers. Tom’s shaking his head without really noticing. He wants to say something, wants to tell him that he doesn’t want anyone else, but he doesn’t dare. 

“I’m glad you called,” he says after a moment of sorting his thoughts. “Thank you.” Keeping it friendly is all he can do right now. 

“I’m glad you won,” Robert replies. “I’ll leave you to it, I’m sure you’ll be a popular guy tonight. Show’s almost over now. Have fun.” He hangs up without waiting for Tom’s reply. 

He stares at the phone for a moment before he puts it back in his pocket. On the screen the last award is announced, and then it’s over. He can hear the hall outside fill with people. Then the door flies open and his family spills inside, all yelling over each other, each one wanting to be the first to hug him, to congratulate him. Their joy and jubilation is contagious, and quickly Tom is swept away in tight hugs, kisses on his cheeks -one lands on his nose- and overall celebration. Harry pops the first bottle of champagne, spilling half of it over the carpet. Sam grabs the Oscar, prancing around the room with it, making everyone laugh. His mom tries to get everyone to eat at least a little bit before Sam opens a second bottle. There’s music playing -probably from Haz’s phone- and then there’s another hostess, reminding them to not be too late for the party, the cars leave in half an hour. 

*

Tom doesn’t really know how they got there, he’s been swept along, into a car, out of the car, down another endless line of photographers and microphones. He’s smiling so widely his cheeks hurt, his hand clamped tightly around the statue. It seems customary to surrender it to a handler who will make sure it gets engraved, but Tom doesn’t want to let go, needs the solid reminder that this has really happened. 

Time flies by in a haze of more champagne and food, music, chatting with people Tom has no idea who they are. He’s thankful for his family and Haz, who keep him grounded. 

Haz pulls him towards the engraving station, and they watch in giddy awe as Tom’s name gets etched into the base. They toast to it, giggling like teenagers as they take the statue back to their table, planting it right in front of Tom. 

It gets later, the party gets louder, and at some point his parents bid their good night. 

“I’ll come with,” Tom says, earning loud protests from everyone at their table. “Just to the door,” he says, swatting Sam’s hand off his arm. “I need some fresh air.” Harry clings to the Oscar, holding it tightly. 

“You better, or I’m keeping this,” he grins. 

“Break it and you buy it,” Tom shoots back, laughing at his own silly joke. 

Weaving through the people, he follows his parents towards the large doors; the main press is gone, only a few paparazzi loiter on the other side of the street. He can feel their cameras on him as he hugs his parents, thanking them for coming along. 

“Text me when you’re at the hotel,” he says, making his dad laugh. 

“And the kid has become the parent,” he grins, pulling Tom into another tight hug. “I’m so bloody proud of you, son,” he says as he lets go. 

“Thanks, dad.” Once again a wave of emotion washes over him and he blinks the wetness in his eyes away. “Good night,” he calls after them, watching them slip into the car. 

He walks away from the brightly lit entrance; he’s well aware he’s being photographed, which he doesn’t have a problem with, he knew that basically every step of his would be documented. He still wants a bit more privacy so he wanders towards the huge backyard behind the building. The hedges are high, keeping the nosy press out. There are people mingling, not as many as inside but still a few too many for Tom’s taste. He walks past the large barbeque and the pool, deeper into the greenery. It’s quieter here; there are torches strategically placed to illuminate the artfully arranged flower beds and neatly trimmed bushes. He snags another glass of champagne from a tray and wanders around aimlessly. He recognizes so many faces; people he only knows from the big screen and has never met before. Shaking his head at the utter absurdity of his life, he flops onto a bench, grinning into his glass. He watches the people on the lawn, laughing and dancing, drinking in all the glitz and glamour and the famous people. Some wave at him, and he waves back, giddy and overjoyed. 

He takes a sip, reveling in the bubbly sensation on his tongue, before taking a few deep breaths. He’s a bit tipsy, the alcohol is coursing warm through his blood, everything is a slightly blurry around the edges, like a softening filter on Instagram.

It’s somehow the only thing that keeps him from freaking out as he sees a familiar face in the crowd. Or so he thinks. He can only see the back of a head, the curve of a shoulder, but suddenly his heart is picking up speed. Sitting up straighter, he watches as the man nods at something someone says to him. 

His breath hitches as he turns around, dark brown gaze sliding searchingly over the people around. When their eyes meet across the lawn, it shoots through Tom like an electric shock. 

He can see a smile bloom on Robert’s face, and he quickly excuses himself before rather swiftly sauntering over towards Tom. Who can’t move, can barely breathe, can only watch as he comes closer. Robert’s eyes are twinkling in the soft lights, a smile sitting in the corner of his mouth, which makes Tom’s stomach swoop. 

Suddenly he’s on his feet, dropping his glass carelessly onto the bench, and he’s flying over the last steps that separate them. Wordlessly he throws himself against Robert who catches him easily, wrapping his arms around him. 

“Hi,” he says quietly, and Tom has to bite back a moan at the roughness in that one word. 

“Hi,” he replies, voice breaking, “why-how-what are you doing here?” he mumbles against Robert’s neck. 

“I was in the area,” Roberts shrugs, squeezing him again before letting go. Tom wants to protest, wants to hold him just a little longer, feel his solid body in his arms. But one glance over Robert’s shoulder reminds him that they’re being watched. Not too closely, as most people are properly inebriated by now, but there are still too many eyes on them. 

Tom leans back, gaze sliding over Robert’s obviously bespoke suit. It’s a deep blue, three piece beauty, fitting like a glove, with a crisp sky blue shirt underneath. The small tie, the pocket square and his sneakers are a deep red, an unusual but perfect complement to the blue. 

“In this outfit?” Tom asks incredulously, hope sparking bright and painful in his chest. 

Robert smirks, straightening the jacket. “Just had it lying around and thought I’d pop by,” he admits softly, “congratulate you personally. I mean, you’re an Oscar winner now, gotta pay my respects.” 

Tom shakes his head. “Some days I can’t believe you’re real,” he mutters, the smile on his face growing. 

Robert snorts. “Sometimes I can’t either.” 

They look at each other, smiling. The longer it lasts, the more the smiles falter. Robert’s eyes are dark, dancing over Tom’s face, down his borrowed suit and back before locking with Tom’s eyes. 

“You look like an Oscar winner.” Robert says softly; Tom is sure it was supposed to come out as a quip. It didn’t. It’s too earnest, too gentle. 

“Thank you.” 

They fall silent again, just looking at each other. The air around them sizzles, and Tom feels his heart hammering in the soles of his feet. 

“Just-” Robert reaches out, and Tom holds his breath. Robert’s hand goes to Tom’s tie, fiddling with it a little. “There, better.” His hand is still on the knot, his fingertips dangerously close to Tom’s racing pulse. Tom makes a noise, half whine, half whimper. His skin feels too tight, too hot. Robert is right there, he can feel his warmth, can smell his aftershave, can see the widening pupils in his eyes. 

“Robert,” he whispers longingly, itching to reach out and touch him, feel the soft stubble of his beard against his palms, curl his fingers around his jaw. 

Robert’s eyes flicker from Tom’s eyes to his lips, and for one perfect second nothing stops Tom from leaning closer. He can almost taste Robert’s mouth, as Robert gently slips his hand down his chest, stopping him. 

“Tom,” Robert says, and it’s endearment and warning, all rolled into one. It’s ‘ _not here, not now_ ,’ it’s ‘ _too many people watching_ ’ and it’s frustration and want. 

Tom can see him swallow hard, watches his throat move and he wants to scream. 

But the rational part of his brain is still functioning, and he knows he’s right. 

He squares his shoulders, takes a step back, putting some much needed space between them. Robert’s hand lingers a bit longer on his chest, right over his heart and Tom wonders if he can feel it racing. 

Robert’s eyes narrow and he takes a deep shuddery breath. Then he drops his hand, shoving it into his pocket. But not before Tom sees the tremble in it. He smiles shakily at him. 

“It’s late, I’m a bit drunk, I should get going,” Tom says hesitantly, not surprised to see Robert shake his head. 

“It’s barely midnight. Go back inside, enjoy your night.” He tilts his head, a speculative expression darting over his face. “Where are you staying?” 

Tom’s heart stops for a second. “At the Waldorf,” he murmurs, the hope so audible in his tone that Robert closes his eyes for a moment. 

“Funny, that’s my hotel too,” he says eventually. “The Penthouse suite.” 

Tom chuckles. “Of course.” 

Robert winks at him. “Go and party hard. No Oscar party should end before the sun comes up.” He wants to turn but then he stops, hesitating before he pulls Tom into another quick hug. “So fucking proud of you,” he whispers against Tom’s temple. His lips brush against Tom’s skin, and he can’t suppress the soft moan that escapes him at the touch. 

“See you around, kiddo,” Robert says, letting go of him and walking away without looking back. 

Tom watches after him for a moment, before he carefully walks backwards until he feels the bench against his knees. He sits down again, taking a few measured breaths to calm himself. 

Hope and anticipation are coursing through his body, but he tamps it down. Standing up, he walks back inside, only a tiny bit unsteady. 

Tomorrow. Tonight he’ll party until the sun comes up. The rest will find itself then. 

###

Robert sits on the balcony, sipping his espresso as the doorbell chimes. He glances at his watch. 4pm. He grins as he stands to open the door. He ignores the small ball of heat in his stomach. Maybe it’s just house keeping - they tend to come rather late on the day after the Oscars, knowing that basically nobody goes to bed before sunrise. 

Laying a hand on the door knob he takes a deep breath before he opens it. 

He laughs out loud, slapping a hand over his mouth at the sight in front of him. 

“Ssshh, god, please don’t.” Tom looks miserable. His hair is a mess, curling wildly around his head. His face is pale, and he’s wearing sunglasses. There’s nothing left of the elegant young man from last night in his well fitted suit that enhanced his toned body and made Robert want to punch everyone who even glanced in his direction. Right now he’s wearing blue jeans that are a tad too long, sneakers that aren’t tied properly and a black t-shirt that’s inside out. 

Biting his lip, Robert opens the door wider. “Can I help you?” he teases softly, loving the slightly confused expression on Tom's face. 

It was something that had started on set; first Tom had been too intimidated with Robert, had been a bit shy around him. Until he realized that Robert was just as human as everyone else, and they had quickly fallen into easy workmanship, almost like their characters. Tom had called him out on his bullshit, and Robert had teased him mercilessly about his youth. Over the years they had grown closer and closer until something had shifted between them. There had been long glances and lingering touches, soft smiles and small gestures that went beyond normal set friendships. 

At first Robert had thought he imagined it or that he was projecting, but after a while he had realized that he was falling for this beautiful, bright young man. And even distance didn’t lessen the burning longing he felt whenever Tom texted or called or when he saw him. And the longer they were apart, the worse Robert needed him. 

He spent an entire month with self reflection, trying to find out whether or not that was something he wanted to pursue. Tom was so much younger than him. 

But then he remembered the way Tom looked at him whenever they had time to meet, which was rare. Tom was a busy man, in high demand, and video calls were sometimes the only way to actually SEE each other. And even through a grainy screen Robert could see how Tom looked at him. And he tried less and less to control himself, let things slip he hadn’t dared to say to him before. 

Of course he had been in LA for his first big Oscar nomination. And after he won and he called him, he couldn't stand being away from him one second longer. 

Meeting at the party wasn't the best idea, but it was one last test for himself to see whether he still wanted him. The way Tom looked at him, shock and need written so plainly over his beautiful face, gave Robert the courage he needed to invite him to his room. 

And now he was here, clearly hungover and not at his best. He still came, and Robert ignores his racing heart as he leans against the door, eyes drinking in every muscle twitch and frown in Tom’s face. 

“You-,I thought-” Tom stutters, a blush, so gorgeous that Robert needs to bite his tongue, spreading over his face. 

“Yes, that was my intention” Robert grins, motioning Tom inside. “Coffee? You look like you need some,” he says, walking back towards the balcony. 

Tom stops him before he can reach the door. His hand curls around Robert’s, the touch soft and yet sure. His fingers slot between Robert’s, closing around them and Robert stops midstep. 

“In a second,” Tom says. His voice is rough, too much alcohol and too little sleep. It’s the most erotic thing Robert has ever heard. He bites back a moan as Tom pulls on his hand, urging him to step closer. Tom’s hands slide over Robert’s arms, up his shoulders before slipping into his hair. Tom is almost as tall as him and yet he has to stretch a bit as he presses himself against Robert. He can’t suppress the delightful shiver that runs down his spine at the feeling of Tom’s warm body against his own. 

Tom’s fingers explore his neck, sliding deeper into his hair, chasing goosebumps across his scalp. 

“Do you even know what you did to me last night?” Tom asks, frowning a little as Roberts smirks weakly. “I could barely sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about you. But I needed to sleep, wanted to be clear headed and not too hungover so I remember every damn second with you.” His voice is low and his tone so determined, Robert has to curl his own hands into fist to not haul him in and kiss him senseless. 

This is Tom’s turn; he sets the rules for whatever this is going to be. 

“I still have a bit of a headache and you better have a massive breakfast for me,” Tom mutters, nails scratching gently over Robert’s head, “but first things first.” 

And with that he seals his mouth over Robert’s, kissing him like he’s starving for it. And he probably is. Just like Robert. With a helpless moan he pulls Tom close, arousal racing through his blood as he comes willingly. His kisses are needy and heated, he licks and bites at Robert’s lips, making them both groan. Tom kisses with his entire body, he’s clutching at Robert's hair, his chest pressing against Robert’s, he’s as tense as a bow, vibrating with need. And Robert wants to rip off his clothes, wants to bend him over the next best sofa and pound into him until he forgets his own name. 

He feels himself getting hard, feels Tom’s erection against his leg as they kiss and kiss until they have to break for much needed air. 

“Finally,” Tom breathes against Robert’s lips, nipping at them one last time before he steps back, his whole face beaming like the sun. 

Robert can only stare at him, still a bit dazed. Tom snickers, running a hand softly over the side of his face. 

“Coffee? Please?” 

Robert nods and leads him to the terrace. 

*

Half an hour later Tom flops back into his seat, emptying the coffee pot that came with the large double breakfast Robert ordered for him. Every plate is empty, only a few crumbs and some lonely fruit remaining. 

“Feeling better?” Robert smirks, having found his footing again. There’s still a current of anticipation running through him, like low-level electricity, making his skin hum every time Tom’s fingers brush over his. 

Tom lets out a string of content noises that make Robert’s stomach flip. 

“Much better,” Tom says, sliding deeper into the comfortable chair. He’s taken off the sunglasses, but his eyes are closed as he turns his face towards the sun, sighing deeply. 

Robert watches him, feeling a smile dance over his own face. He looks so relaxed and just right. Robert had been thinking about this all way too much, and there’s still some very small part of him that insists that this isn’t right. 

But Tom’s here, he has kissed him and Robert just knows he is going to spend the night. Whatever else comes after, he will worry about that when it is time. 

“You look ready for a nap,” Robert suggests, startling Tom out of his dozing. He bites back a grin. 

“No, it’s fine, I’m good,” Tom says, shaking his head, sitting up straighter. He tries to look at Robert, but his eyes are glassy and the expression that is without a doubt supposed to be seductive comes out a bit cross-eyed. 

Robert laughs softly and stands. Tom’s face falls, but as Robert holds out a hand to pull him up and into his arms, he makes a happy noise. Robert just holds him for a moment, reveling in the heavy weight of Tom against his chest. He’s warm and smells of the hotel shampoo and mint. His hands instantly slip under Robert’s t-shirt, caressing his lower back. Tom nuzzles into the crook of Robert’s neck and then presses kisses against his skin. 

“God, I’ve dreamed about touching you like this for so long,” Tom murmurs, hands becoming bolder, tugging on the waistband of Robert’s jeans. 

“Me too,” Robert admits quietly, indulging for another moment before pulling away. His own hands frame Tom’s face, his skin hot, eyes shimmering almost feverish. 

“But,” he says, brushing gentle kisses over Tom’s lips that leave his own tingling, “you need to get some more sleep. How about you rest, and when you wake up-” 

“Only if you sleep with me,” Tom says, voice almost steady but Robert can see the amused glint in his eyes and the twitching around the corners of his mouth. 

He leans back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Cheeky brat,” he mutters, but he follows Tom to the bedroom. Watching him kick off his shoes and crawl into bed, he wonders when Tom had settled so easily into his life even though he’d never really been part of it. 

Yet it was exactly what he wanted. With a shrug at himself, he gets into bed as well, not bothering with the covers. The air is warm, and the light breeze coming through the open windows is rather nice. Tom snuggles against his side, head resting comfortably on his chest, one hand sneaking under his shirt again. 

“This is nice,” he mutters before he nods off, making Robert snicker softly. The last night had taken so much out of him, and yet he showed up, came to Robert’s door. 

With a slightly trembling hand, Robert pulls Tom closer and his even breathing quickly makes him nod off as well. 

They have all the time in the world right now. 


End file.
